


The Other Guy

by Flantastic



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One of the double-ohs cracks, Q is not a Damsel in Distress, Threats of Violence, and amazingly it's not James
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flantastic/pseuds/Flantastic
Summary: An agent loses control and comes for Q.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 11
Kudos: 386





	The Other Guy

Q was sitting at the cluttered little desk in his workshop when the proximity alert activated.

He did have a nice office, all posh blinds at the windows and a sleek desk, but he much preferred working in the workshop. It was close to his engineering staff and they all knew to come in and show him what they were doing if a new invention did something unusually cool or interesting, it had a kettle that Q had modified to bring a mug’s worth of water to the boil in under 20 seconds (and was likely to fry the eyebrows off anyone not up to speed with how to use it), and it was close to the back entrance to the branch should he wish to beat a hasty retreat which he usually did when he saw Vallance from accounting on the CCTV, heading down to talk about the double-oh’s weapons budgets. Again.

He dragged himself from the schematics he'd been reading to look at the third screen that he’d hooked up to his laptop. With a couple of commands, he’d brought up the security interface. He frowned at what he saw just as R came in.

“Have you seen it?”

Q nodded.

008 was on his way towards the branch. He’d had problems on his last mission. Q wasn’t aware of all the details but the rumours were he’d made threats towards several key managers afterwards, Q included. He was officially on suspension, barred from the building after losing his temper in M’s office, pending a psychological evaluation. The facial recognition software that Q ran within the building had picked the man up at the south entrance, the closest to Q Branch.

“Call security. Have them send a couple of men down here.”

“Shouldn’t you be leaving?” R asked worriedly.

“No.” Q replied. “It’ll be me he wants to see. I’m not running away. He obviously feels he needs to speak to me about something. Go back to your desk and tell all the staff out there that they are to remain seated. I don’t want anyone confronting him. Security won’t be long. By the time he’s blown off some steam I’d imagine they’ll be here to escort him out.”

R quickly went out to let the staff know and to make the call. Q stood up and went over to his workbench to flick on the kettle and begin moving around pieces of kit. He was tempted to go back behind his desk but if Peterson was agitated Q didn’t want to seem defensive. Besides, Q’s desk in the workshop was butted up against the wall – he’d be trapped. Instead he stayed where he was, willing himself to appear relaxed when in actuality he was dreading what was going to happen. An angry double-oh could be a formidable, dangerous thing.

A hush fell over the staff in the main workshop and a moment later the door to his room slammed open. Q turned to see Steven Peterson, the ex-SAS, karate expert, 008. He looked terrible, his eyes were red rimmed and it looked as though he’d slept in the t-shirt and jeans that he was dressed in. Q could tell that he’d been drinking and, if he had to guess, had been since he was excluded from the building the day before.

“Peterson. What can I do for you?” Q asked, hoping that he sounded calm.

“We need to talk.” The agent growled, shutting the door behind him.

“Do we indeed?” Q replied, picking up a prototype crank arm and turning it over in his hands, hoping it looked like an aimless, distracted act.

“Your kit is shit. It let me down.” Peterson said, walking towards him. “It almost fucking killed me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like to submit a report?” Q asked, starting to feel uneasy and wondering where in the hell Security were. “We can work through it together if you’d like. I could help you to…”

Peterson sprang at him.

~00Q~

James sat in his office wondering if he had it in him to do any more work. He’d finished his mission report and submitted his expenses claim for the month but he still had a stack of emails to wade through (of which an alarming number seemed to have come from M). There was also a preliminary psych evaluation to complete ahead of his annual review with MI6’s resident psychiatrist Doctor Hall. He had two hours left to go before he could realistically hope to steal Q away from his work for the day. James supposed he could get everything done before then… or he could go to the gym… or the pub even… He picked up his phone. Perhaps a few minutes playing Solitaire could help him to make up his mind.

The phone on his desk rang and he picked it up absent-mindedly.

“Bond.”

“Commander Bond? This is Doctor Conroy. I don’t want to alarm you but I’d like you to get down here to Medical as soon as you can please.”

“What, why?” James asked, sitting up and stuffing his mobile phone into his pocket.

“It’s Q. I’m afraid he’s been hurt. There was an incident in his office and....”

James cut her off by slamming down the handset and was immediately out of his chair and running. Jesus. James tried not to worry about Q, he really did, but the fact was his husband spent a lot of time dealing with dangerous equipment and dangerous weapons… and even more dangerous people. James had read the memo about 008 that morning. It was him; he knew it was. Peterson was a good agent but he had a wicked temper and an unpredictable nature. His military training usually reigned in both of those things but not always. If he’d managed to get back into the building and then lost control … oh God.

He barreled into Medical to find the main reception area deserted. There was a large computer screen on the wall behind the front desk. His heart sank and his rage flared as he read the injuries detailed for the patient in Room 1.

_Broken bones_

_Genital trauma_

_Head trauma_

_Taser burns_

_Third degree burns_

A wounded cry, almost a sob, escaped him as he ran to the room terrified at what Peterson had _done_ to Q, and slammed open the door.

“Where is he? I want to see what that fucker did to him!” He demanded.

There was a gaggle staff surrounding the prone man on the bed who all jumped at his sudden intrusion. At the foot of the bed the department’s co-leads, Doctor’s Kressler and Conroy were stood, both pouring over an x-ray on the tablet that Kressler was holding. At James’s interruption Conroy turned to intercept him. He tried to stalk past her but she reached out and gripped his arm.

“No, 007!”

“Let me see him!” James insisted. “It was Peterson, wasn't it? He attacked Q?”

“Yes but…” Conroy started to say.

“Wait until I see that cowardly bastard! I’ll fucking kill him!" James shouted.

“James, you’re already seeing him! He's the one in the bed!"

James paused, scanning her face to see if she was lying. She wasn’t. He took a slower step forward and she let him. It was indeed Peterson in the bed, looking like he’d lost a fight with a steamroller. Kressler, obviously realising James was no longer going to be a threat turned to resume speaking to his staff.

“As I was saying before Commander Bond interrupted me, there is a surgeon, a Mr Fitzroy, currently on his way from St Thomas’s Hospital who will deal with the third-degree burns to Peterson's face. In the mean time I will deal with the skull fracture, broken fingers and the strangulated testicle. I want Fitzroy prepped and joining me in the OR as soon as he arrives. Susan, can I ask you to resume dealing with our other patient and keep Bond from trying to murder this one? I’ll have security post a guard here once he’s out of surgery.” Conroy nodded.

“Come on James. Let me take you to Q.”

James allowed her to lead him out of the room.

“What happened to Peterson?” He asked, confused.

“What do you think happened to him?” She chuckled. “Do you know, I used to wonder what attracted you and the quartermaster to each other but I can see exactly why you two ended up marrying now. You’re as bad as each other!”

James hesitated.

“We’re what?”

“James, _Q_ is what happened to Peterson!”

“He what?” James was confused. 

As they walked up the corridor, she filled him in.

“Apparently Peterson tried to attack Q, tried to strangle him. Q fought back by hitting him over the head with an engine part and then throwing a kettle of freshly boiled water at his face, Then he used an aikido technique to break Peterson’s hold on him – and several of his fingers I should add – and then once he was on the floor, Q kicked him in the balls when it looked like he was trying to get back up again. He might not have ended up in here at all but when Peterson came at him _again,_ he used a prototype taser on him. We think the insulation on the handle hadn’t been completed, he ended up jolting them both and knocking them both out. Security found them both unconscious. Here we are then.”

James went into the room, his mind reeling. Q was lying on the examination bed. The top half was raised and his neck was supported by a pillow. He was wrapped in a blanket but James could see where his collar had been loosened, revealing the bruises around his neck.

“He has a taser burn to his hand and he splashed himself with the boiling water a little bit. Other than that, he’s bruised and sore but he’ll be fine. I’d like to observe him for a couple of hours, I think he’s got a slight concussion, but you can take him home by this evening I should think.”

James went over to the bed and sat on the side of it. He stroked Q’s cheek and he roused at the gentle touch.

“James.” He whispered sleepily.

“Hello darling. How are you feeling?” 

Q shrugged.

“I’m OK, I think. You should see the other guy.”

James smiled.

“I just have.” He shook his head, laughing affectionately. “Fucking hell. Why do I ever worry about you?”

“The same reason I worry about you darling." Q replied. "You love me.”

James saw that his right hand was bandaged. He slipped his fingers around it gently and raised it so he could kiss the back of Q’s fingers.

“I do. And I love the fact that you can defend yourself.”

“Do you?” Q asked, smiling. “How much do you love it?” 

“I’ll show you when we get home.” James said quietly, waggling his eyebrows.

“Ahem?” They both sniggered when they realised Conroy was still in the room. “Concussion! Remember? Lord save me from double-oh agents and their bloody husbands! Please try to keep your hands off him for longer than two minutes James. He’s supposed to be resting.”

“She’s no fun.” James muttered as she left the room.

“She’s also got fantastic hearing!” She shouted back from the hallway.

That made them both laugh and then Q’s eyes slid shut.

“OK baby?”

“Tired.” Q replied, a frown creasing his brow. James kissed the wrinkled little area of skin before standing and gently shifting Q across the mattress. “What are you doing?”

“If I know Doctor Conroy like I think I do, something that will piss her off…”

~00Q~

When Conroy returned, she wasn’t so much pissed off as she was resigned. She could have laid money on coming back into the room to find James curled up on the bed with his husband. Neither was she surprised when he insisted on holding him every moment that he dozed and recovered enough to go home.


End file.
